Edward Hirsch
FACTORIES
Everywhere in New York City there are factories
flinging their broken windows into the streets
raining sawdust and glass crying out with the
soft voices of women whispering Puerto Rican names
whispering my name and wearing their dark shadows
like petticoats and their graffiti like too much makeup
over their scarred bricks their used up bodies
yes they are always stained they have walls
broken off like the stumps of cripples
I'm sorry but this is how it is with me
everywhere I turn I find the ruined mouths
and damp animals of yes and when
I lie down to sleep at night I hear
dry pistons setting into motion like
galloping horses yes their hooves are echoing
on concrete their hearts are hammering
they are churning like diesels bursting out of
tunnels out of mountains out of factories
and shedding silence like an extra skin yes
pumping blood through the stillness of my arteries
